


Entangled in Your Touch

by moonchild1998



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Cultural Traditions, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, but mainly lovers, chronological following of all the times zuko lets katara in, katara loves zukos hair, lots of folklore, love language: physical touch, miscommunication i supose, story telling, zuko loves katara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28717533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonchild1998/pseuds/moonchild1998
Summary: Overcome with the sensation of love for the boy in front of her, Katara placed a chaste kiss on his lips, then flung herself into him so she could bury her head in his neck and hair. They stayed that way for a while, Katara draped over Zuko, petting his hair while he peppered kisses on her clothed shoulder. It was good to be together. In those quiet moments with no advisors, or chaperones, or even friends present, they didn’t have to be Fire Lord Zuko and Master Katara. They could just be Zuko and Katara, how it was meant to be.Fire Nation nobility are quite particular about their hair. Such coveted locks are not to be touched by anyone, much less the peasantry. Zuko doesn't let anyone touch him at all for fear of being burned. Katara is Zuko's exception to both of these conventions.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 178





	Entangled in Your Touch

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago, I received a headcanon on tumblr (hello [follow me](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sukkadeservedbetter)) that sent me reeling. This was the headcanon that was sent to me: 
> 
> "In the books about Kyoshi we learn that the Fire Nation people are very careful with their hair. The more noble Fire Nation families would never let just anyone touch their hair in intimacy way. But Katara doesn't know this and often strokes his hair or even kisses his hair before they even become a couple."
> 
> What transpires is the absolute feral spiral my brain went through after reading this. I had so much fun expanding on this idea a developing rich traditions and folklore for both the Southern Water Tribe and the Fire Nation. I want to thank [Jyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/www_creedthoughts_gov/pseuds/www_creedthoughts_gov) for being the best beta ever and really pushing me to think critically about the story I was writing (oh, and [follow her on tumblr too](https://hakoda-in-a-hawaiian-shirt.tumblr.com/))
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Ursa violated many rules during her time as Fire Lady, but none more so than those surrounding the sacrosanct royal hair etiquette. 

Azulon’s rule barred Ursa from many of her favorite things, like dancing and strolling in the public gardens. Even wearing her hair down. Hair in the Fire Nation was akin to one's status, and Ozai would have no wife of his wearing her hair down like some lowly peasant. Still, Ursa loved to break that rule in secret when she was alone with her children by the turtleduck pond. 

Thousands of years of tradition based on a single story paired with insufferable noble elitism led to the sacredness of hair within the Fire Nation. The hair of the royal family was especially lamented for. It was taboo for those of lower social status to touch nobility’s hair. Even among similar social statuses, touching another’s hair was considered a lewd act, never to be done in public. In the peasantry, extra care was given to washing and styling their hair, especially for royal festivals and events. Within the aristocracy, it was common for families to hire servants whose only job was to wash, style, and groom the family's hair. 

The higher one's social status, the more intensely these rigid social traditions were imposed upon them. Noblewomen weren’t even meant to style their children’s hair.

Ursa broke that rule, too. 

Zuko, her darling prince, had such lovely hair that she loved to run her fingers through. More than once Ozai had reprimanded her, stating that her doting on the boy made him weak, but she wasn’t weary of her husband’s empty threats. Azula’s hair was beautiful, too. Perhaps even more so than her brother’s, but Azula became a terror at such an early age, falling in line behind her father with ease even before she could stand. Azula rarely let Ursa touch her hair, so Ursa was resigned to use her son as a vehicle for rebellion. 

Zuko, unlike Azula, relished in the sensation of his mother’s touch. 

Zuko couldn’t have been more than seven when he learned just how important a role hair played in the Fire Nation. His mother raked her fingers through his hair, pulling it tightly into a perfectly tight ponytail. Zuko grumbled at his mother's feet as she used gel to pin back his flyaways. He hated the gel, and how stiff it made his hair feel, and that funny cherry scent that assaulted his nose. Zuko kicked his feet to pull away from his mother when he saw her remove his crown from its box.

“Stop fidgeting, Zuko. This needs to be perfect,” Ursa sighed, placing her son back down on the cushion by her feet. 

Indignantly, Zuko huffed, “Why?”

“Because we’re seeing your grandfather today.”

“So?”

“So, you want to look clean and groomed to show that you’re healthy and strong. A well-kept hairstyle shows to others that you respect yourself, that you're a man of discipline and honor.” Ursa sighed, placing a gentle kiss on her son's head.

But it wasn’t just that; hair symbolized so much more than just status in the Fire Nation.

Hair was directly tied to one’s honor, and Zuko would learn that lesson first hand at the age of thirteen. 

Zuko woke up on a Fire Nation ship a few days after the Agni Kai with his father, with pain searing in his left eye. _Agni, no,_ Zuko pleaded. _It was a dream, just a bad dream._ But when he brought a trembling hand to his face to feel the jaggedly tender skin that burnt deep into his hairline, Zuko knew that Agni wasn’t listening. _His hairline._ His hair was still there; his uncle hadn’t shaved his head as he should’ve. Zuko choked back a sob, waking his sleeping uncle on his right. 

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh yawned.

“Don’t call me that!” Zuko yelled, feeling the fire burn below his fingertips. Zuko wasn’t a prince. Not anymore. He was vile and dishonorable. He deserved the mark on his face; he deserved what he was about to do. “I need a blade.”

“Prince Zuko…”

“A blade, Uncle!” Iroh apprehensively handed Zuko the shaving knife from the tabletop next to the bed. “Leave me.”

“Please, Prince Zuko. You don’t have to do this,” Iroh cried. 

“I said, leave me!” Zuko bellowed, his voice hot with smoke threatening to expel from it. Iroh stood slowly, knowing there was no reasoning with his nephew in any state, much less this vulnerable one. 

Zuko pulled himself to his feet with mild difficulty and hobbled over to the mirror. White-hot tears escaped his uninjured eye as he stared at the mark his father had left on him. Zuko brought the blade to the crest of his head with shaking fingers. Slowly, he began to cut away at the hair on his head. Tendrils timidly toppled toward the floor, unceremoniously halting at his feet. Zuko shaved until his head was bald except for the diamond-shaped patch of hair which turned into his ponytail. 

A fate worse than death: the mark of a failed Agni Kai.

Zuko fell to his knees, hiccuping through his wet sobs. His breath ragged, he tried to swallow his pain. He curled into himself on the cold, metal floor, eventually succumbing to sleep amidst the discarded pieces of hair that were once his. Sometime later, his uncle reentered the room, stirring Zuko from his slumber, but Zuko dare not move. 

“Oh, my son,” Iroh sighed, picking Zuko up and placing him on the bed. Zuko kept his eyes closed as his uncle caressed his hand over his freshly bare head. Zuko sucked in his bottom lip to keep himself from crying out when he felt uncle run his fingers down the remaining tendril of hair. “It won’t always hurt like this, Zuko. You’re stronger than you believe.”

Zuko wouldn’t tell his uncle that he was awake that night. Some secrets deserved to be his and his alone, but Zuko was glad his uncle said what he said, even if it took Zuko years to actually believe him. 

Zuko’s hair proved to be important to him again three years after that. After Azula attacked him and his uncle, Iroh insisted they both lose their Fire Nation hairstyles. 

“I can’t, Uncle. This is the hair of a failure,” Zuko barked. “I lost the Agni Kai. I have to wear this. It’s the mark of the dishonored.”

“I think your father left you with enough marks, Prince Zuko. You are not a failure. You’re a good man.”

“I’m not!” Disbelief and anger plagued Zuko’s scornful tone. He didn’t want to believe his uncle; he couldn’t. 

“You are, and we are no longer of the Fire Nation. Do you think we’ll ever be welcomed back now after we attacked your sister?” Iroh sliced off his top knot, letting it float away down the river. “It’s time to let go, Prince Zuko.” 

Zuko’s eyes burned as he watched how easily his uncle was able to let go. His uncle’s meaty and calloused hand gripped Zuko’s shoulder, and for the first time in years, Zuko did not shy away from his uncle’s affection. 

Zuko read the inscription on his knife. _Never give up without a fight._ If he wanted to regain his honor, maybe his uncle was right: he’d have to look inside himself. He wasn’t giving up. He was simply choosing a new fight. He was done fighting for his father’s love. Zuko let out a shaky breath and sliced the hair from its constraints. Zuko watched his hair float away down the river, and with it, a few of his demons, too. 

Zuko felt lighter than he had in years. Being free of his hair freed him from the weight of shame his father had so willingly bestowed on him. Zuko liked being Lee of the Earth Kingdom. He liked knowing that his father would throw a fit if he saw Zuko in Earth Kingdom clothes and a peasantry hairstyle. Zuko felt like himself when he was Lee. Not who he was, but who he could be, who he wanted to be. A teenager who could have a life outside of royalty. One who could do typical teenage things like getting a job and going on dates. 

_Dating._ That wasn’t something Zuko ever allowed himself to think about. When he was a prince, the courts had primed him to court Lady Mai, but then the Agni Kai happened, and all thoughts of courting anyone, much less a Fire Nation lady, were banished with him. With the hair of a dishonored man, Zuko had resigned himself to be alone forever, chasing a myth around the world. 

And then Jin asked him—er, Lee—out. 

Zuko didn’t know how to be charming or how to treat a girl on a date. He begged his uncle to allow him to cancel, but Iroh insisted he go.

“It will be good for you, Nephew. Accompanying such a beautiful young lady to dinner is a privilege. Now, sit,” Iroh said.

Zuko grumbled, finding his place on the floor in front of a mirror. Iroh pulled out a familiar bottle of hair gel, and as it had when Zuko was a kid, the scent of cherries assaulted his nose. This time, though, the smell didn’t send him reeling. It reminded him of his mother and encircled him in a feeling of warmth and comfort. His uncle smiled merrily at him through the mirror. Zuko scoffed, looking, with an annoyed look, anywhere but at his uncle’s reflection.

Iroh was quick to smooth down the jagged pieces of Zuko’s hair, which had unevenly grown back after he shaved his whole head. Zuko tentatively peered at his reflection. Staring back at him was a boy he didn’t recognize. This boy, _Lee_ , had a date. Despite all of Zuko’s qualms about the evening, it felt good to be wanted. It felt good to have his uncle working the gel through his hair, ignoring important Fire Nation conventions. _Agni, what would father say?_

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remind himself that he was no longer under his father’s control. If Iroh could leave the Fire Nation behind, why couldn’t Zuko? Zuko tried to tell himself things would be better if he was just Lee. ‘Just Lee’ didn’t have a traumatic family history. ‘Just Lee’ could let people touch him the way he so desperately craved to be, without being afraid of the burn that might follow. ‘Just Lee’ had a date, and Zuko was intent on enjoying it. 

Despite reminding himself that he was allowed to enjoy the feeling of others touching him, doing so did not come easily. When Jin casually ruffled his hair before they went out on their date, Zuko was mildly appalled. Not that he showed it, of course. He was Lee, not Zuko. She didn’t know how inappropriate her actions were. Why would she? Zuko learned quite quickly that the Earth Kingdom was much looser than the Fire Nation when it came to societal norms. Still, she just touched it—him—without thinking or asking, like it was no big deal. 

Zuko decidedly didn’t like people touching his hair unless they were his uncle. Even then, it felt too intimate to be something he deserved. 

That is until he became friends with a certain waterbender.

Zuko had always been a physical being. Maybe that was part of being a firebender. Other benders controlled their environment, but fire benders had to create their element. Zuko needed to do things to learn them, to feel them to understand. Zuko had a hard time expressing himself with words, and that, he knew, was a Fire Nation thing, or at least it was in his family. 

His mother lived in fear under the constant scrutiny of his father. The most expressive she had ever been with him was the night before she disappeared. Zuko wasn’t convinced that wasn’t a dream his mind conjured up to help him cope with abandonment, though. She loved him; He’d always known that. Words weren’t her strong suit either, but a hug was all it took for him to know. Despite all of his metaphorical ramblings, His uncle had trouble talking about his feelings after he had lost his son. Zuko learned to equate physical affection as love. 

His and Mai’s relationship was definitely physical, but not in the way that it mattered. Their relationship wasn't love. Not really. It was lust. Ambivalent toleration, in place of being alone. Mai was even worse with her words than he was. She showed her love through silent touches and melancholy sighs. It was physical, but not in the way he needed. 

Zuko needed enthusiastic, unrelenting, and unabashed love. He needed to be caressed and his worth affirmed. He needed a patient and understanding love. He couldn’t talk about his feelings, but he was arguably worse at showing them, especially with new people. He needed to warm up to people. 

Katara wasn’t like that, though. She was good with feelings. With all of friendship, really. At first, It scared Zuko how easily connecting with others came to Katara. She was a natural. It was so easy for her to tell people how she felt about them, and even easier for her to show them. Somehow, Katara was able to pinpoint how everyone needed to be cared for, and she adapted for them. Zuko would never admit how jealous he was of her tact and empathy. 

Early on, Zuko watched in awe when Katara would squeeze Aang’s shoulder encouragingly and hug her brother goodnight. He nearly choked one evening when he saw how she happily hummed as she brushed out the little earthbender's hair. Back then, Katara still wanted to drown him for his past mistakes. Katara terrified Zuko then. Her ferocity was unrivaled, and it all reigned down on him. As Zuko watched Katara grooming Toph with some mix of jealousy and yearning, though, Zuko couldn’t help but covet the idea of her grooming him. 

That should’ve been the first sign that his heart would always belong to her.

Years later, after his heart was hers, and hers was his, the feeling of her fingers dancing through his hair was the only thing that grounded him. Her touches made him feel whole somehow. He still didn’t like being touched by strangers. Even with his advisors, staff, and friends, he was apprehensive with physical contact, even if he did allow it. Katara’s touch, though, was water, and he’d been wandering in a vast desert for far too long. When Zuko thought back to the early days, he’d laugh at how hopelessly awkward he had been and how quickly he had given in to her touch. 

The first time Katara touched Zuko’s hair, Zuko hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Beach party!” Sokka yelled, stripping down to his wrappings, grabbing Suki’s hand, and running down the winding dirt path which led to the water below Zuko’s Ember Island home. Toph pulled Aang with her, leaving Zuko alone with Katara.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an incensed _ugh._ “We shouldn’t be hanging out at the beach all day, Katara. The comet is just a few weeks away. He needs to keep practicing.” 

“Zuko, if you keep training him so intensely, he’s going to collapse before he can even face your father. You both need a break.”

“I do _not_ need a break.”

“No? Your forms _have_ been looking a little sloppy,” Katara teased. Zuko gave Katara an impliable look. “Oh, lighten up, Jerkbender.”

Katara’s fingers pushed back the bushy fringe that concealed Zuko’s eyes and ruffled it against his scalp. Zuko froze, and the moment suspended in the hot island air. Katara was good with people and their emotions. She could sense a shift in someone’s mood almost immediately. Such an understanding of others was rivaled only by Toph, and Toph had an unfair advantage. Katara felt Zuko’s body go rigid at her touch. Katara almost pulled back, fearing she overstepped, but then she saw Zuko close his eyes and sigh with a small smile, and that made Katara’s heart clench in a way that scared her. 

She didn't understand it, but she didn’t want to stop caressing him if it got that reaction out of him.

Physical affection came easily to Katara. She learned quickly during her travels that elsewhere men didn’t show fondness the same way women did, but that had never been her experience. Southern Water Tribe men hugged. Her people relied on the manual labor of both men and women for survival. Storms raged harshly, and the landscape, much like her people, was unyielding. You held your loved ones close because you had to keep warm and because it brought comfort when the unrelenting weather could not. Being caressed and pet felt like love to her. 

Gradually, Katara realized that not everyone felt the same way about physical touch. Katara’s innate desire to care for others proved time and time again to be her greatest strength. In this regard, such a devotion to others taught Katara how to love people the way they needed love. Toph needed time together. Aang responded best to words of encouragement. Suki liked small gifts, like when Sokka built her that god awful sand sculpture. Sokka needed a combination of verbal reassurance and physical affection. 

When it came to ways to be loved, Katara found most people were easy to read. Zuko, however, was a big question mark. He rarely let his guard down long enough for Katara to learn. Verbal reminders that they cared about him made Zuko bitey. He never actively joined in any group hugs. He hated when people helped him. 

Katara liked it when her friends didn’t ask anything of her. When they sat down next to her and just let them be one with her and the soft earth beneath them. Katara liked to be touched, too. In those silent infinities, she loved when they placed their heads on her shoulder or threaded their fingers with hers. Katara especially liked having her hair played with. Mostly because it reminded her of home. 

When she was a little girl, her Gran-Gran would brush out her hair by the fire, telling Katara fantastical tales of fierce women who fought for what they wanted. Katara loved listening to Kanna's stories and the feeling of a comb against her scalp. Katara hated her hair when she was little. It wasn't as silky and beautiful as the other women in her tribe; her hair was bushy and unruly, and she had so, _so_ much of it. She wanted to cut it off, to leave it short like Sokka’s. 

“Not yet, Snowflake,” Kanna told her. “When you’re older.”

“But why not now?” Katara squealed, stamping her foot onto the crunchy ice. It was a sunny day, but snow began falling around just her. She was only nine, and yet her waterbending was already powerful, even without a master to teach her.

“Katara, you’re making it snow!” Kanna worriedly pulled Katara inside. “You mustn't lose your temper like that. You know your bending must stay a secret.”

Katara ignored her Gran Gran’s warnings. “Why can’t I cut my hair?”

“You haven’t bled yet, Snowflake.” 

Katara was only nine, but she knew of a woman’s lunar cycles. She knew that bleeding meant she was a woman, not a girl.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

Kanna sighed, low and steady, unsure how to introduce such topics to a young girl. Katara wasn't a baby anymore, Kanna supposed, and she was certainly wise beyond her years. Katara tapped her foot impatiently. 

“When a girl becomes a woman, the spirits bless her with the ability to bear children," Kanna started. Katara rolled her eyes. She already knew all of this. Kanna continued, "fertile women mean the tribe will be able to survive. A lunar cycle doesn’t always mean the ability to bear children, though, Katara. Some women are never able to carry. In harsher winters, this can be quite common."

Katara cocked her head. "How does this have anything to do with my hair?"

"Hair is an extension of one’s body and spirit. The stronger and healthier the person's hair is, the stronger and healthier the person’s spirit is. When a woman first bleeds, she may cut her hair for the first time and offer it to the spirits. The longer and stronger her hair, the more likely the spirits are to bless her with a bountiful womb.”

“So I can’t cut my hair because of babies?” Katara’s face scrunched up. 

“I know it doesn’t make sense to you right now, Katara, but one day you’ll fall in love, and you’ll want children of your own. You’ll be glad then that you waited to cut your hair. Come, Snowflake, let's begin dinner."

Katara padded along behind her Gran-Gran, sliding her fingers through the bottom of her braid. She understood the importance of prayer and tradition. She understood the need to make offerings to the spirits who protected the tribe. Katara even understood the need for women to bear children. What Katara didn't understand was why that was all she was meant for. Surely there could be more to life than _babies._

Though unconvinced by the notion, Katara still allowed her Gran-Gran to work fish oil through her tresses three times a week to make them softer, longer, and stronger. When she bled for the first time at thirteen, she was thrilled to finally cut off her mane. She, like the women before her, offered her locks to the spirits. As she watched the women in her tribe pray to the spirits that she may have many children, Katara realized she was glad she waited. Katara understood the significance of such a ritual to her tribe, to her family, and even to herself. 

Being away from home during the war and after led Katara to a new appreciation for her people and her culture. She missed home terribly. Water brought her solace, but never the comfort she needed. In the tendrils of her hair, she found her connection to home. When she found herself unbearably homesick atop of Appa’s saddle, Katara would release her hair from it’s raveled state and begin rebraiding it. 

Individual strands of hair are brittle, but when they are weaved together and securely fastened in a braid, hardly anything can break them. The many are stronger than the one. This idea flowed through all aspects of life. Kids in the Southern Water Tribe are taught about the importance of community from the minute they are born. Katara loved that family extended beyond blood in her homeland. Every member of the tribe was a part of her family. To brave winters, the tribe must work together to keep everyone safe. As with hair strands of a braid, the tribe was strongest when they worked together. 

Members of the Southern Water Tribe are taught how to braid by their elders. Teaching children how to braid helps the tribe keep their traditions alive and to pass down the culture to the new generations. Her mother taught her how to braid, and Katara fondly remembers practicing daily on both Sokka and her father. Sokka used to grumble, but she knew he secretly loved it. In her tribe, grooming someone, or playing with their hair, strengthened the bond you had with them. It was seen as a way to connect your spirits, to say I love you. 

So maybe that’s what possessed her to run her fingers through Zuko’s hair on that blistering afternoon. She wanted to know how she could prove to him she cared about him. He was a part of the group now, and she wanted to be sure he knew that she loved him as she did all her friends. The action itself was innocent enough: A friendly, teasing gesture. Because they had _just_ become friends, Katara decided not to dwell on his reaction or how it made her feel. 

Her efforts started well. When Zuko emerged from the sea later that same day, however, hair soaking wet thanks to Aang, Katara ached to see that content grace his face again. She wanted him to lean into her hand as he had before. She wanted to see his cheeks dust after he finally opened his eyes, realizing he had been purring. Katara flicked her wrist, bending the water from Zuko’s hair, leaving it blown out and humorously poofy. 

“Uh, thanks,” Zuko coughed, cheeks threatening to tinge red. He caught her studying him out of the corner of his good eye before she spoke, and Zuko worried he’d been found out. 

“No problem,” Katara smiled, smoothing his hair down just to see his reaction. Zuko’s head fell back towards her hand, and his eyes closed seemingly involuntarily. Quickly, he snapped his head back and looked away.

 _There it is_ , Katara thought, and she didn’t dwell on the problem anymore. She knew now how Zuko liked to be loved. Why his reaction made her feel like something was bubbling in her stomach wasn’t a question she needed to know the answer to at that moment. Years later, when reliving this summer in her dreams, Katara would understand that she loved him even when she thought she hated him. 

Katara later realized that she fell in love with him during those Ember Island nights when they found themselves talking on the balcony that peered over the vast expanse of the ocean. Zuko found her out there by mistake early into their stay at his family’s home. The moon rose high in the sky, just barely shining down like a twisted smile.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Zuko squeaked when he found Katara on his balcony, taking root in spaces he’d always kept empty.

“That’s alright. You can join me if you want. I’m just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?” Zuko asked, planting his trunk next to hers. 

“Life. The future. Home mainly.” Katara wistfully looked onward at the stars, not paying much attention to Zuko at all. 

“Tell me about it?” Katara’s head then jerked to make eye contact with Zuko. Her cerulean eyes narrowed at the firebender who had never pried into her private life. “What? I’m curious. I like learning about other cultures. I’m afraid what I do know about the Southern Water Tribe was likely propagated by years of blind nationalism.” 

Katara kept staring at him, unsure. 

Zuko continued, “You light up when you and Sokka tell stories about your childhood. You both do. Did you know? It makes me want to visit the South Pole one day.”

Katara blossomed. “Well, if you ever do visit, the first thing you should know is that a Fire Nation Top Knot will _not_ cut it.”

“Why’s that?” 

“Well, a warrior’s wolf tail is more than just a hairstyle Sokka spends too much time on. It’s a symbol of warriors, and at formal events, it’s a symbol of the respected. They’d rib you for it all night if you didn’t.”

Without either of them realizing it, their roots knotted and their branches intertwined. 

“Sounds simple enough. Maybe one day you can help me put my hair up that way.”

“Yeah, maybe one day…” Katara trailed off, realizing that the _maybe_ was not a hypothetical likely to happen. They were either going to end the war or they were going to die trying. 

“What else?” Zuko prodded.

Without words spoken between the two of them, their talks on the balcony became a nightly ritual. They traded stories of home and learned about the other. They passed down folklore of home, of family, of hope. Katara watched each night as Zuko’s grew sleepier the higher the moon rose. The night was her time, not his. Admittedly, Katara found it quite endearing to watch him struggle to stay awake. One night, less than a week from their first clandestine meeting, Zuko placed his head in Katara’s lap. It was the first time Zuko ever initiated friendly physical contact. Katara’s breath could not be found. 

Zuko wasn’t sure if it’d feel right, if he’d be comfortable, or if Katara would even let him, but Katara’s thigh had looked so comfortable, and his eyes were droopy. With all the courage he could summon, he allowed himself to take the comfort he needed. Zuko had never been so vulnerable and intimate with anyone before, not even Mai. He’d seen Sokka sit in the same manner with Suki, and he yearned for such effortless affinity. Katara hadn’t stopped him from lying on her legs, and Zuko couldn’t help the relief that flooded from his tense shoulders.

Katara’s breath hitched when she saw Zuko lowering himself onto her lap. She continued talking, not wanting to deter him from his actions. She hoped he hadn’t caught the hesitation that saturated her voice. He didn’t look like a prince when he sighed contently in her lap after he had settled. He looked like a boy who needed a friend, and Katara was determined to be that for him. Katara was unsure what to do with her hands, which had been idly twitching in her lap. Eventually, Katara brought her hands to his hair because it felt natural. She wanted to see that lovely shade of pink again. 

Zuko let out a shaky sigh of relief upon feeling her slender fingers and perfectly kept nails working through his shag. In the dark, Katara couldn’t see his blush, but she knew it was there. Katara’s voice did not falter for the rest of the evening, and neither did Zuko’s. 

This, too, became a part of their nightly ritual.

One night, just a few moonrises before the comet, Zuko fell asleep with his head in her lap. Katara sighed, looking down at the firebender, and she felt her heart tighten the same way it had all summer. Her brows furrowed as she worked through his silk hair. She traced her fingers across his scalp, down his forehead and nose, until she reached the molted skin which covered his eye to the shell of his ear. Her fingers found his hair again, and she followed the uneven beginnings of the scar from under his fringe. 

Zuko shifted in his sleep, and Katara stilled, worrying she’s overstepped and he’d awoken angry with her. Instead, Zuko’s hand pawed blindly at his head until he found her hand. He squeezed it gently, a sign of reassurance and comfort, then brought his hand back to himself. Zuko hummed slightly before his breathing returned back to the steady pace of sleep. Katara resumed her idle wanderings across the raven expanse of Zuko’s hair. Her heart, which had already felt tight, finally burst, opening the floodgates to everything she had been feeling. 

_Oh, how inconvenient,_ Katara cursed, knowing the uncertainty of the situation they would face in just two days couldn’t be complicated by her _feelings_ of all things _._ Those would have to wait, and she’d have to hope that they’d live for her to tell him of them. But for now, while he slept and she played with his hair, she could pretend they were just regular teenagers for a little while. 

On the Day of Sozin’s comet, Katara wished she had held on to that night on the balcony a little longer. What little Katara knew of Azula had mostly been picked up through observation. Azula was sharp in precision and in fashion. She was primped, and preened, and always on the offense. Azula was calculating and logistical in her actions. Not a single step was misplaced, and not a piece of clothing misfit her. 

When Katara saw Azula’s jagged haircut, she knew she and Zuko were in trouble. The shorn edges of her bangs barricaded her eyes. Strands haphazardly fell from her topknot. Careless slices stood out in all directions. It was not the hair of a princess on the day of her coronation, but of a girl in the midst of losing it all. Zuko called it slipping, but Katara knew it was a mental break. It occurred to Katara, as the hot eclectic current barreled toward her, that Azula’s hair resembled that crackling of a lightning bolt. 

Zuko’s agonized yell of protest rang in her ears, and she watched as he fell, cradling Azula's lightning. 

_Please, no! No, no, no. Not him. Please, not him. The world can’t afford to lose him. I can’t afford to lose him._

Katara’s frantic prayers to any spirit that would listen were eventually answered. Zuko moaned softly, and under her watery fingers, Katara could feel life returning to him. Tears welled in her eyes as she saw the flush return to his cheeks. Oh, what she’d give to see them turn that lovely shade of pink that had somehow become her favorite.

“Thank you, Katara,” Zuko rasped. 

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you,” Katara choked out. Katara helped Zuko up slowly. With Katara kneeling over Zuko, she slammed him into her chest, arms around his neck, not even thinking about his wound until he grunted.

“Sorry,” she whispered, pulling back, but a hand around her waist stopped her. Zuko pressed her against him again, placing his head in the crook of her neck. His unsteady breath hot against her neck, inhaling the salty sweat that dampened the collar of her dress. Katara’s fingers tangled in the hair at the base of Zuko’s neck, no less damp than her own. Her fingers tightened in his hair as a way to moar herself to the earth and to him. Zuko sighed happily and Katara, too, let out a breath of relief.

Zuko’s heartbeat was weak as they entered the palace. Zuko keeled over once inside the threshold. Katara immediately took initiative, barking orders at Fire Sage’s and servants. Had Zuko not been so focused on the searing pressure in his chest, he would have taken the time to admire the ferocity with which Katara commanded a room. A cough sent Zuko onto his knees and Katara crashing down with him, once again praying he would live. 

Katara worked tirelessly through the night to keep Zuko’s heart going. The health minister repeatedly asked if Katara needed help, but she vehemently refused. The suggestion of someone else helping Zuko seemed intolerable. Zuko’s skin was clammy, and his hair stuck to his neck and forehead. He was in and out of consciousness for hours, shivering, and then overheating. Katara raked her fingers through his hair to keep it from crusting to his forehead. She’d lie and tell anyone who asked that she was petting him because she knew he secretly liked when she played with his hair, but the truth was it comforted her just as much. 

At some point in the early hours of the morning, Katara drifted off with one hand in his hair and one arm on his chest where the newly formed scar lay. 

“Uh, Katara?” Zuko’s steady voice jolted the sleep from Katara. She sat up quickly, staring at her friend, who seemed to have regained his strength. 

“Oh, sorry. Must’ve drifted off... How are you feeling?”

“Good. Better. I’m... Thank you,”

Zuko squeezed the small, pruney hand that still lay across his chest. Katara didn’t think she could handle her heart clenching again. Overcome with joy and relief, Katara tangled her hands in his hair and pulled Zuko to her lips for a firm kiss. 

Zuko’s cheeks were a wonderful shade of fuchsia when Katara pulled back. Katara couldn’t even be embarrassed because Zuko was alive, and she could feel his heart beating erratically under her fingers.

“I, um,” Zuko stuttered, leaning his head into her hand. Katara smiled, thumb brushing against the edge of his scar. “Stay?”

She did. 

Perhaps, Katara mused in a warm pool of sunlight that illuminated the turtleduck pond, she had overstayed her welcome. It all seemed to her to be so long ago. Finding Aang, Zuko joining the group, the nights on Ember Island, the Agni Kai. The first three years after the war ended were chaos for all of them. Somehow, a ragtag team of kids was looked to as the symbol of hope and change. They ended the war, and then the world expected them to pick up the pieces and lead, and so they did.

They grew from wide-eyed children to self-assured world leaders in a matter of months, but when she met up with any of her friends, it was like nothing had changed. When she saw Zuko during those first few years, time seemed to freeze and catch in her chest. 

During their time apart, Zuko never improved with his words. His letters were stiff and awkward and yet adorably Zuko. When they were apart, Katara wasn’t sure if he felt the same about her. When they were together, however, Zuko was able to show Katara how he felt. Zuko let his fingers trail down her arm when he talked with her, and he always made sure to save a spot for her next to him. He hugged for too long, and somehow, not long enough. He stole chaste, surreptitious kisses before they parted for the evenings, and eventually, they fell asleep in the same bed. 

When they were together, Katara knew where his heart resided, but distance made that truth harder to bear. Distance eluded them when they were together but consumed them when they were apart. On the eve of Katara’s eighteenth birthday, everything changed.

Her friends all took time to convene on Ember Island for the occasion. Zuko always claimed there was something mystical about the place. Seeing how easily they all fell back into their old selves in Zuko’s home, Katara was sure he was at least partially right about that. Katara, oddly enough, didn’t mind falling back into the motherly role for a week. Not when all six of them were together for her. Katara especially didn’t mind the fact that she and Zuko found themselves back on the balcony every single night.

It was late. Probably too late for Zuko to be up, but he sat between Katara’s legs, chittering on nervously, as she braided his hair. It was finally long enough for Katara to actually play with and style, and she loved it. She loved every moment she could get alone with Zuko. She loved how he’d kissed her feverishly when he met her on the balcony that night, and how easily he found his spot in front of her, and how he leaned back into every tug and caress she gave.

Breaking a comfortable silence that had overcome them as they stared uncomfortably up at the stars, Zuko spoke. 

“I miss you.” His shaking voice betrayed his calm exterior. 

Katara brushed small pieces of hair that hung out of the braid out of his eyes as she spoke lovingly, “I’m here now.”

“Yes, but I miss you when you’re not here. Not, uh, _here_ here, but, um, you know. Not with me. I miss you.”

“Being apart is hard.” 

Katara scooted from behind Zuko until she was next to him, so she could lean her head on his shoulder and hold his bicep close to her body. She feared the inevitable, undeniable truth that his advisors had pressured him to court and marry, and that distance was too much for her to be an option. 

“And you love being home, don’t you?”

“I have,” Katara agreed. _Have._ Past-tense. The South Pole didn’t need her anymore. Northern waterbenders had moved down, providing her home with more than enough waterbending masters for future waterbenders. Sokka was being groomed to become chief, and she felt stuck just as she had when she was fourteen. Being among the ice and snow where she belonged felt comfortable, but it didn’t feel right anymore. 

“Well, um. I was hoping—wondering, I guess—if you could make your home the Fire Nation, too. At least part-time?”

Katara nearly choked. “What are you asking of me, Zuko?”

“Oh, it’s not me asking, it’s my advisors.” _Oh_ , Katara thought. Somehow, his asking solely on behalf of his advisor was an even harder blow than him breaking up with her. 

“The Southern Water Tribe is finally stable enough to warrant its own ambassador. You were essential in ending the war and stopping Azula. Your respect as a bender and healer and political alignment with your brother primed to become the next chief bode well for you. My advisors want me to give the position to you. They wanted me to tell you how grateful they were that you saved me.”

Katara’s pity party was cut short, replaced only by pride. Zuko was so well-spoken when he spoke of politics. Katara couldn’t help but beam at the boy to her left, who was no longer a boy, but a _lord_ in every sense. 

“You don’t have to decide tonight if you don’t want to.”

“Zuko, is it just your advisors who want me to move to the Fire Nation?” Katara tightly whispered. 

“Um, well, no. There are selfish motivations behind me asking you to move. I really do miss you when you’re not around.”

“Yeah?” Katara inquired hopefully. 

“Yeah. There’s no one else I’d rather talk policy with because you care about people more than anyone I know, but it’s more than that. You must know that. If you moved, I’d get more nights like this, and they’re my favorite.” Zuko’s sweaty palm pressed into her, knuckles brushing into the pads of her fingers until they opened to welcome his own. “And my bed gets lonely when you’re not there to hold. If you stayed, I’d get to actually court you. It's hard to be a good boyfriend when the girl you love lives an ocean away.”

“I’m sorry, girl you what?” Katara stuttered. 

“ _Agni,_ Katara. I love you. How could I not love you?”

Katara threw caution to the wind and climbed into Zuko’s lap, pressing her lips firmly to his. There was no room for the kiss to break or to deepen. It was solid as a rock, and not even Toph could bend them apart at that moment. Katara’s fingers found the elastic she placed at the bottom of Zuko’s braid and pulled so she could run her fingers through his hair the way they both loved. 

“Okay,” Katara whispered as they pulled apart. 

Zuko’s heart jumped into his throat as he stared up at his beautiful waterbender. She had broken all of his rules, and intertwined her fate with his, the way she intertwined her fingers in his hair. “Okay?”

“Tell your advisors I accept.” Katara hugged him fiercely, whispering in his ear, “and have them tell the Firelord that I love him, too.” 

It was poetic, Katara realized, that the place she’d fallen in love with him was the place he’d ask her to stay, to really stay. This realization came to her years later, when he proposed to her on that very balcony. 

Now, nearly four years after her eighteenth birthday, in the private garden of the Fire Palace, her fingers fumbled in her pocket with the Fire Lady crown that she’d soon wear in hair. It wasn’t traditional for her to have it yet, but Zuko insisted, as a promise that he was hers as much as she was his. Katara’s eyes glazed over, blurring the pages of the book she was supposed to be reading when she thought about being Zuko’s _wife._

As though Agni was the deity she prayed to, a sunray shone on her slowly approaching fiancé like the ethereal being he was. Agni’s light kissed him, turning that gorgeous hair Katara loved from raven to chestnut under its golden hue. Katara never got over how good he looked in his official robes. 

Zuko leaned down to kiss Katara on the forehead, relishing in the way she hummed happily for him. _Only him._ Taking a seat next to Katara in the damp grass, he leaned his head into her shoulder. 

“Rough day?” Katara asked, shutting the book in her hands and discarding it to the side so she could turn her full attention to Zuko.

“You have no idea.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. This is the only break I get until this evening. I’d rather not talk policy for a little bit. I want to spend my short break with the love of my life.”

“Oh, do you want me to leave?” Katara teased. “I know you and the turtle ducks have a special relationship. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Zuko rolled his eyes, pulling Katara into his lap, earning a mild squawk of surprise from her. Quickly, she found her place comfortably resting on his hips. Her arms draped over his shoulders, and she grinned down at him. Zuko whispered, “I was talking about you.”

“Were you?” Katara teased. 

She pressed a kiss to his nose and then let her lips rest on his forehead, her eyes fluttering closed at the comforting sensation of being in Zuko’s grasp. Her fingers played with the ends of his hair, which now rested below his shoulders. Zuko licked a stripe along her jaw to her chin and Katara giggled, attempting to wiggle free from his traitorous tongue. Zuko held her firm in his arms. They stayed a little longer until Zuko finally groaned

“Don’t wanna work,” Zuko mumbled into her neck. Katara shivered at his hot breath. 

“So don’t,” Katara affirmed. 

She was joking, and Zuko knew it, so he hummed in agreement with her suggestion. Zuko’s grasp had loosened, so Katara was able to slide out of his lap onto the grass next to him. Katara pulled his crown from his head without thinking much of it, letting the hair which had been imprisoned in gold fall into Zuko’s face. With her nails lightly scraping against his scalp, Katara pushed his hair back. Zuko purred. He actually purred like a kitten, setting Katara’s insides ablaze. 

“What would the other world leaders say if they knew how easily you become a puddle under your fiancée’s fingertips, hmm?” Katara teased.

“I’d probably never hear the end of it,” Zuko ruminated. “Then again, that’s because they don’t know how good this feels.”

“Would you like me to show them?” Katara provoked, gripping slightly too hard at the roots of his hair just to get a rise out of him. 

Zuko grabbed her wrist, making eye contact with her. “Don’t you dare. These hands are mine,” Zuko whispered, placing soft kisses against her wrists and palms. 

Katara cupped his face and agreed, “Yours.”

“They don’t need to know how calm you make me feel.”

Katara shrugged. “It’s a healer thing.”

“No, Katara. I’ve met healers before. This is a _you_ thing.”

Overcome with the sensation of love for the boy in front of her, Katara placed a chaste kiss on his lips, then flung herself into him so she could bury her head in his neck and hair. They stayed that way for a while, Katara draped over Zuko, petting his hair while he peppered kisses on her clothed shoulder. It was good to be together. In those quiet moments with no advisors, or chaperones, or even friends present, they didn’t have to be Fire Lord Zuko and Master Katara. They could just be Zuko and Katara, how it was meant to be. 

“Eh hem.” A cough broke Zuko and Katara apart. Above them stood Zuko’s chief advisor, Minister Ito. “Lord Zuko, Master Katara, I’m sorry to interrupt. My Lord, the governors from the outer provinces have arrived. They are requesting an audience with you as soon as possible.”

“Right, of course,” Zuko sighed, standing up and tying his hair back into an official topknot. Katara handed him his crown with a melancholy smile. “How do I look?” Zuko asked.

Katara smoothed over his robes and straightened his crown, letting her fingers trail down his hair. “Positively regal.”

Zuko pulled her in for a kiss. “See you at dinner?” 

“No, I have a meeting with the health minister. Tea in the parlor after?”

Zuko shook his head, “Sparring practice.”

“Oh, right. Well…”

“Later, then?” Zuko asked in a low tone. 

No one on Zuko’s staff was under the impression that Katara and Zuko were not sleeping in the same bed every night. It was the worst kept secret in the Fire Palace, but it wasn’t spoken about. For appearance's sake, if only for official records, Katara and Zuko maintained the lie of tradition that they parted ways in the evenings and met again at breakfast. 

“Later,” Katara agreed with a similar hush to her voice, eyeing Ito’s glance of uncomfortable disapproval. Katara watched as Zuko strode away towards the throne room. “Minister,” Katara politely nodded to Ito, spinning on her heels. It wasn’t that Katara didn’t like the man. She just wasn’t in the mood to make niceties with Zuko’s chief advisor. She wanted to curl up in bed and imagine what she and Zuko could get up to if they had a whole day off.

“Master Katara? I was wondering if I could have a moment,” Ito spoke. 

Katara paused, grimaced with her back still to Ito, and then turned around with her sweetest, most diplomatic smile. “Sure, Minister Ito. What can I help you with?”

“I’m correct in assuming that you know I am Fire Lord Zuko’s head secretary and counselor, am I not?”

“Of course. You’re Lord Zuko’s most trusted advisor.” 

Katara was friendly with most of Zuko’s advisors. She’d worked hard to gain their favor as an ambassador, and even harder after Zuko proposed. Ito was a stern, distant man, but she knew what he meant to Zuko. He meant well, but he could be abrasive and cold, especially on matters of public appearances. His gray beard drooped all the way down to his sternum, and Katara often wondered if the grandchildren he often spoke fondly of took turns pulling at it from his lap.

“And you know that I was asked to take on this position by the Fire Lord’s uncle, General Iroh, correct?”

“Yes,” Katara continued wearily. 

“Then I hope you’ll understand that I intend no ill will with what I am about to say. I care very deeply about Lord Zuko. I can tell you mean a great deal to him, as I assume he does to you.”

“He does. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but where are you going with this, Minister?” her nerves bit at her tongue. She kept her classic smile on her lips, but she couldn’t help that her eyes narrowed a bit in suspicion at the minister's intentions.

“Are you aware of the symbolism hair holds within the Fire Nation, Master Katara?”

“Vaguely.” Katara was working hard to learn all she could about the Fire Nation. It wasn't easy to learn the intricacies of daily life in a nation if you weren't permitted to live among its people. Katara filtered through the conversations with Zuko on Ember Island, hoping that one of those nights, he mentioned more than just why he had to shave his head after the Agni Kai. Alas, she drew a blank. “It’s tied to one’s honor, right?” 

“That is part of it, yes. You see, hair symbolizes power and strength, as well as honor, especially in the noble fire nation families.”

“I see,” Katara said, but she didn’t. She was still unsure why Ito was bothering her with such a question or why he was speaking in riddles. Iroh’s influence, Katara assumed. 

“It’s something we grow up knowing here in the Fire Nation, but it’s not often talked about. It’s just something that is merely understood. Do you mind if I tell you a story, Master Katara?”

“Not at all,” Katara replied, finding herself suddenly interested in what the man had to say. She knew well enough that he’d tell her the story whether she wanted to hear it or not. Ito gestured for her to sit with him on a shaded bench. 

“Toz, the first Fire Lord, was a brutal, tyrannical man,” Ito spoke. Katara bit her tongue to keep herself from saying that he sounded familiar. “He believed it his divine right to rule after Agni visited him in a dream. As he rose to power, uniting the Fire Islands, many asked Toz where he drew his insurmountable power from. He told the commoners Agni had blessed his hair, giving him the strength of 1000 suns.

“As Toz’s power grew, the newly united Islands also grew fearful. A budding young Fire Sage by the name of Roh believed that there could be a different way to lead, one lead by peace, understanding, and connections to the spirits. Roh was fiercely generous and virtuous and a remarkable Fire Bender. A pious man, Roh did not believe in violence, but he had seen Toz’s reign of terror span long enough. Roh challenged Toz to an Agni Kai for the throne and won, but he did not kill Toz. As punishment for his senseless violence, Roh ordered Toz to shave his head except for a single tendril. Such a punishment rid Toz of his so-called blessed hair, but left enough, to remind him of what he once had.”

Katara gasped. She couldn’t help but think of a thirteen-year-old Zuko sobbing as he cut his hair, thinking he was anything like that tyrant. 

“Roh created a new form of government, in which the Fire Lord led by Agni’s light with the help of the Fire Sages. It was a time of peace and prosperity. The Fire Sages believed Roh’s rule to be Agni’s will and therefore ordered him to take pristine care of his hair, in case the vision Toz had of Agni blessing his hair held any merit. Obviously, the Fire Nation has strayed greatly from our beginnings, but we are a nation bound tightly by our traditions. To this day, it is believed that a Fire Lord’s strength is tied to their hair.” 

Katara cast her eyes downward. She spent a good deal of her time learning about the Fire Nation. She wanted to know as much as she could of the Fire Nation and their customs before she donned the title of Fire Lady, but reading could only teach her so much.

“I never knew that.”

“I assumed not. Fire Lord Zuko has much of his mother in him; she was never one for staunch traditions either.”

“You knew her?” Katara perked up. She knew little of the former Fire Lady, except for the halo Zuko had placed upon her head. She loved learning about her. The more she did, the more Katara understood why she did what she did and why Zuko loved her so much. 

“I did. Like her son, Ursa was never one to follow the rules. Lord Zuko has broken a lot of traditions, many for the better. I fear, though, that his stubborn will won’t be enough to sway the noble families’ belief in Toz and Roh’s story, or the hair rule.”

“The ‘hair rule?’” Katara asked. 

“Ah, yes. It’s tradition that the Fire Lord’s hair mustn't be touched by anyone other than his servants who have been hired for that sole purpose. Many noble families have adopted similar beliefs and customs, as well. It’s considered a lewd act to touch a noble person’s hair, especially in public.”

“Oh,” Katara said, looking down at her shoes again, which now seemed to be much more interesting than the minister’s peering eyes. Why was Ito telling her this, and why hadn’t Zuko? He was always telling her Fire Nation folklore and history, often while she was playing with his hair. Was he afraid to tell her?

“I know how much Lord Zuko appreciates his alone time with you. I was only trying to delay interrupting for as long as possible, and so I observed you, um, _petting_ the Fire Lord.”

“I, um…”

“In particular, I saw you remove his crown and use your fingers to comb through his hair. As an old man and an old friend, seeing this, the two of you so in love, it warmed my heart. As Lord Zuko’s advisor, it alarmed me. If someone else had seen such a thing, especially a Fire Sage…” Ito trailed off, looking mildly concerned. “Well, I’m just glad it was I who caught you and not someone else. I just wanted you to be aware, so you could save such an… _intimate_ act for the times you share with the Fire Lord in private rooms behind closed doors.”

“Right, of course. Thank you.” Katara was dismayed and humiliated. How could Zuko not have told her? What if she got him in trouble? 

“To touch a Fire Lord’s hair is not something that should be taken lightly. It’s said many noblemen don’t even let their wives caress their hair during the act of love.” Katara blushed at all that Ito insinuated. “He must trust you a great deal.”

Katara’s furrowed brow softened. He did trust her. He told her so on multiple occasions, but she knew more from his actions than she ever could from his words. He allowed her to sleep in his bed, even though he feared abandonment. He allowed her to take on large political tasks on her own despite his council advising against it. He allowed her to make the calls on missions, even back when they weren’t even friends yet. He allowed her to touch his scar when everyone else wasn’t allowed to. So _why_ hadn’t he told her about this? Why keep this from her?

Spirits, she was so, unequivocally, head-over-heels in love with that boy, and the thought that he’d been afraid to tell her something scared her more than she cared to admit. What if all this time she’d misread his responses, and now it was too late for him to say something?

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Minister Ito, really. Lord Zuko isn’t very expressive when it comes to such sensitive and intimate matters, so I really do appreciate you telling me and how you handled the conversation. I’m sorry if I was rude earlier. I find myself on the defense much too quickly and much too often. I forget my manners. I always have.” 

Ito let out a brazen chuckle. “My pleasure, Master Katara. For the record, I’m quite pleased it was you Lord Zuko chose to court. You compliment him well. He is a great Fire Lord, and you will be the fresh air this country needs, I think,” Ito said with a smile. 

Katara’s cheeks flushed with heat. “Thank you,” she replied. 

“There are a lot of things about our nation you cannot read in a book, Master Katara.” Ito nodded toward the historical textbook she held. “Our history is muddled. It’s been overwritten one too many times, but our traditions, our way of life, has remained greatly unchanged by the passing of power. We are proud and ritualistic people in ways that cannot be conveyed through ink and parchment.”

“I know. I want to get out of this palace and understand the people I am to soon lead. I’ve been told that as I am now publicly betrothed to Lord Zuko, it would be unwise to travel without a chaperone.”

“That is probably true, but, My Dear, I would be happy to chaperone you. Perhaps, you would allow me to be your cultural tutor. If you can find time in your schedule, I’d be happy to meet with you weekly, more even, if you’d like.”

“Oh, Minister Ito, that would be lovely.”

“It’s settled then! I’ll work with your secretary to find a time that works for both of us and have the information relayed to you promptly.” 

“I look forward to our first lesson.” Katara clutched her book close to her chest. Ito bowed his head and pivoted on his toes.

Katara heard him exclaim as he floated toward the throne room, “You will be a great Fire Lady, Master Katara.” Such positive sentiment filled her with so much glee that she almost forgot her wretched mood caused by Zuko omitting something so large from their conversations. 

Katara moved swiftly to her chambers. Her feet were moving, but she wasn’t convinced she was the one moving them. Her chest felt heavy with the thought of Zuko not trusting her with something so important to the Fire Nation’s culture. Her stomach knotted at the thought of this somehow being her fault. Her throat closed at the idea that he’d been too afraid to tell her anything. Katara knew she had to talk to Zuko about the matter that evening. She wished for any inconvenience to delay such a horrible conversation.

When her dinner meeting went over by thirty minutes, Katara was pleased. When Zuko’s sparring lesson caused him to enter his chambers nearly an hour after he normally did, Katara hid her anxiety behind a thinly veiled smile.

Zuko’s body ached from training. His Minister of Defense insisted on thrice-weekly sparring sessions to keep the Fire Lord in shape and his instincts sharp. Zuko insisted the frequency of practices wasn’t necessary. There hadn’t been an attempt on his life in over a year, not that they ever let him fight those battles himself, and he practiced his forms every morning. Not to mention, he sparred with Katara whenever he got the chance. 

Still, his advisors loved to see him suffer. Not actually, but they pushed him constantly. At first, Zuko loved how hard they pushed him. It meant they believed he could be better than Ozai. Now, eight years post-war, Zuko just wanted to enjoy an evening off with his fiancée. 

_Katara_ , Zuko sighed dreamily.

She was the only thing that got him through his more gruesome days. As Zuko drudged up the stairs to his private quarters, he hoped that Katara would be there waiting for him. He wanted to curl her into his chest and let her talk of her day while he inhaled her scent and listened. Zuko loved listening to Katara talk. She had a knack for storytelling. Zuko loved hearing about her day and how she dealt with the dusty old men his advisors always hoped she’d be able to charm. He loved watching her eyes come ablaze, telling how she was able to put them in their place with just a single glare or a whip of water if the need came. He loved _her._

Opening the door to his chambers, Zuko let out an involuntary sigh. Katara was already under the covers in her sleep robes, reading that same history book she had been in the gardens earlier. Wordlessly, Zuko stripped himself of his formal robe, leaving his chest bare and his legs loosely covered in his sparring pants. Zuko knew he needed to bathe, but first, he was going to kiss Katara the way he wanted to earlier in the garden. 

Katara eyed him as he hobbled towards her. His muscles ached more and more with each step. He climbed onto the bed from the foot and immediately collapsed on top of Katara, who let out a grunt, but was quick to envelop him in her arms. Zuko’s head buried into her neck, placing soft kisses onto the sensitive skin. Katara giggled at the sensation, and what a marvelous sound it was. 

“You need to shave,” Katara croaked. 

“Mmf,” Zuko mumbled, burrowing deeper into Katara’s clavicle. “Tomorrow. Too tired.”

“Rough practice?” Her fingers traced his spine. _Dragon Boy_ Katara always called him because his spine protrudes when he hunches over as if he had the ridges of a dragon’s back. 

“Extremely.”

“You need a healing session?” Katara asked. 

“Maybe later,” Zuko affirmed with a small nod. “Right now, this is all I want to do.”

Although he couldn’t see it, Zuko knew Katara was smiling. He felt her place a kiss on the top of his head, and he melted. He looked up to finally meet those beautiful blue eyes he’d fallen for all those years ago. Something in them was different. They were rimmed red like she’d been crying. Zuko, not wanting to push her, initiated this kiss that he had been craving, hoping to distract her until she was ready to talk. Something was off there too. She wasn’t deepening the kiss like she always did. She wasn’t letting out subtle moans of encouragement into his mouth. Most importantly, her hands stayed planted on his shoulders instead of finding their way into his hair. 

Zuko pulled back to look down at Katara. Her eyes were still closed as she pouted at the loss of contact. Zuko thumbed her bottom lip and pressed another kiss to her forehead. He rolled off of her to take a folded seat on the ruby bedspread. Katara sat up and looked at Zuko with a confused look.

“Something’s wrong,” Zuko stated rather than asked. He might not be good with his words, but he could read people like a book, and Katara was his favorite story. With the smallest quiver of an eyebrow, Zuko could tell Katara’s next move. He knew something was bothering her. He just didn’t know what. “Did your meeting not go well?”

“No, the meeting went fine. It’s just…”

Katara was never at a loss for words like this. Zuko’s heartbeat quickened. “Just what?”

“Ito stopped me in the garden today after you left.”

“Did he offend you? I know he can be quite abrasive, but that’s not an excuse. If he said something that bothered you, I’ll talk to him. He needs to know he can’t treat you like—”

“Zuko,” Katara exasperatedly interrupted. “Relax, Sweetheart, he didn’t offend me.”

“Right…” Zuko wrung his hands together. 

“Actually, we had a very good talk.”

“Why are you upset then?”

“I’m not upset, I’m just… confused.”

“About?” Zuko feared she was confused about him, about them. Though subdued, Zuko lived with the constant fear that all his father said about him was true, and that one day, Katara would find he wasn’t worthy of her love. 

“Zuko, why didn’t you tell me about what hair symbolizes in the Fire Nation?” Katara asked. 

Zuko sputtered with slight relief that she wasn’t leaving him. “What?”

“Ito told me the story of Toz and Roh today.” 

“Oh,” Zuko gulped nervously. So she wasn’t leaving him. Not yet, anyway. Still, an arguably more unpleasant conversation was ahead of them. 

“He told me that hair is seen as sacred in the Fire Nation. I mean, I knew it was important but sacred? You never told me that. I… I always touch your hair, and now I’m worried that I overstepped in some way because I didn’t know. I know how hard it is for you to let people touch you, and you always seem so receptive, but have I been misreading it? I mean, I know you don’t particularly like talking about things, but I hope you know you could have told me that it made you uncomfortable or—”

“Katara, stop.” Katara pulled back a little in surprise at Zuko’s harsh tone. “It doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. You’re the person I trust most in the world. I would have told you if I hated it."

 _Trust._ There was that word again that made katara’s heart flutter. 

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Katara asked.

“Honestly? The first time you ever touched my hair, we were kids. I was a banished prince trying to distance myself from everything about my father. He never let anyone touch his hair except when the Fire Sages were blessing him. Not servants, not even my mother. I didn’t want you to think I was high maintenance, or… some kind of horrible monster like my father,” Zuko sighed, looking at his hands. Katara grasped them.

“Oh, Zuko, you’re nothing like him. This convention isn’t unique to your father. It’s a way of life here. Just because your father also adhered to this cultural norm doesn’t make it any less important to your people, or to you. Back then, I wish I had known what it meant. I would’ve never overstepped the way I have.”

“No, Katara, you haven’t overstepped at all. I could’ve told you the truth hundreds of times. It’s been eight years. I tell you everything. Don’t you think I would’ve told you by now if it bothered me?”

“I guess.”

“No, I would have.”

“Then why have you kept this all from me?”

“Because I’m selfish!” Zuko’s hands flexed, and the candles in the room flared. 

“Selfish? I don’t… How?” Katara questioned.

“The _real_ reason I’ve kept this from you is because of how much I like when you play with my hair. My favorite thing in the world is lying with you while we talk about our days, having you play with my hair and me with yours. You’re so respectful of cultures and traditions. I was afraid if you knew the truth, you’d stop out of some idea of respect, but I don’t want you to stop. ” Zuko sighed.

The levy which held her love for Zuko at a healthy level broke, and her adoration came pouring out until she was drowning in it. Katara climbed into his lap and hugged him before either of them could start crying.

“Oh, Sweet Boy. I love you so, _so,_ much.” Katara’s fingers naturally gravitated to his scalp. With a tentative touch, she stroked him, and he hummed that happy little hum he always did and leaned back into her hand. 

He placed a kiss on her lips. “I’m so sorry, Katara. I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t trust you.” 

“I know, Darling.” Katara’s hands were now raking his hair back. 

“Please don’t stop touching me like this now that you know,” Zuko whined, so low that Katara thought he might be praying. His forehead leaned toward her lips, begging for her attention, so she pressed her lips there.

“I won’t. I’m not going to stop. Not when you respond so nicely to me. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t,” Zuko said. 

“Maybe, though, I’ll limit my touches in the garden.” Katara was grinning at the love of her life, putty under her hands. 

“Sounds like a fair compromise,” Zuko agreed, kissing her again. 

“You know, hair means a lot to the Water Tribes, too, which is part of why I play with your hair so much.”

“It does?”

Katara leaned back against the pillows, bringing Zuko with her so he could rest his head on her chest and she could fiddle with the ends of his hair. “We see hair as an extension of oneself. Braiding and playing with someone else’s hair is an important form of intimacy for us. It’s a way of saying _I love you,_ and _I trust you._ ”

“Tell me more?”

Zuko eventually fell asleep, letting Katara’s words lull him off to dreamland. In her arms, under her touch, he felt safe and loved, something he never dreamed he’d be able to feel again. And yet, just as she had made her home in the empty cracks of his life all those years ago, she had found a permanent residence in his heart. 


End file.
